


Just a Favor

by elegant_fleuret



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegant_fleuret/pseuds/elegant_fleuret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You asked that snot nosed prick for one little favor in class and he holds it over you, like you owed him big time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Favor

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspired by an offhanded comment Rick made during an episode I can't really remember, more of a drabble than anything else.

Poll any class that had the great misfortune of having Rick as a student on the question ‘On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you hate Rick?’ and the majority would answer with a 9 or above.  
  
Including the professor.  
  
It was a statistic that you had to agree with, having experienced the annoying man-child for the fifth semester in a row. The perils of being a part of the dismally small group of Domestic Science Majors at Scumbag College.  
  
Honestly, you couldn’t even remember what favor you even asked of him. It had been almost two years. Whatever it was it was, it was definitely not worth it. Not after the countless hints that Rick made that you still owed him and how he should cash in soon and all that other bullshit that feeble little mind of his could come up with. Always using that tone of his that you had to assume was his attempt at flirting but came out as an annoying high pitched whine.  
  
God, you just wanted to punch him right in his greasy face.  
  
Instead you tightened the grip you had on his hardened cock while simultaneously shooting him a glare. You took great pleasure in hearing the sharp hiss coming from him, his entire body wincing at the pressure, the fingers holding up the hem of his dirty shirt twisting. Pain was knocking on pleasure’s door just loudly enough to make itself know.  
  
The pointer finger of your free hand came up to press against your lips. Your voice was barely a whisper against his ear as you chastised, “I said not a fucking sound, Rick. Do you want to get us kicked out?”  
  
Rick’s wide eyes darted around the slightly darkened corner you had brought him to. The only witnesses where the rows and rows of untouched library books, their dusty covers casting judgment on the two students doing the nasty. What had started as a mandatory group project for class had somehow turned into an impromptu romp, an act that he had never thought that you would actually initiate. He had assumed that his constant hints and innuendos would go ignored like they had for so long. Not like he was going to question you or anything now.  
  
“Eh, well now. Here’s a thought-,”Rick found it hard to form words with your soft hand firmly wrapped around his cock. A feeling that the People’s Poet couldn’t rightly describe except say, for finally. His eyes locked on to your hand between his legs, fingers curled around his throbbing cock that poked out from his unbuttoned trousers. Probably would be falling all over himself if not for an expertly placed knee against his taint holding him up with delicious pressure. Even the look of pure contempt on your face was pretty sexy. “Maybe you could be just a tad more gentle, eh? I have rather delicate skin, you know.”  
  
To spite him you tightened your fingers even more, enough to feel the blood pulsating in time with his erratic heartbeat. You kept the almost unbearable pressure as you pumped him, the tips of your fingernails digging into the side of his shaft. If his shaking knees were any indication you might think that he was enjoying it, the fucking masochist. Too bad you didn’t care. What you did care about where those feeble little whimpers the student was still letting out with each pump of your fist around him.  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me.” Venom dripped from every word you spat, clearly disgusted that he couldn’t follow the one command you gave him. He was even more pathetic than his usual self in class. Those keening little sounds coming from his gross mouth were shortly cut off with a gargled gasp as you ripped the shirt hem right out of his hands and shoved it into his mouth. Those big brown eyes of his desperately locked onto to yours. For a second you felt a familiar surge of electricity between your own legs. But you quickly regained control, “If you can’t shut that big fucking mouth of yours I’ll shut it for you.”  
  
Without his filthy piece of material to worry between his fingers Rick was left with nothing else but to try to find purchase in you. His grubby fingers found place on your hips, tips practically embedding down to your bone. All of his senses where overloading, brain desperately trying to absorb and log every little detail so he could masturbate to for months to come. The way your wrist twisted your palm against the head of his cock before slamming back down to meet his pelvis bone. The sweet pressure of your knee against his taint and the subtle, but still damn, rocking of your hips against his thigh. How the smell of your hair, your skin, your breath flooded his nose.  
  
It took a bit of willpower not to moan out when you allowed Rick’s grimy hands wander from your hips to your ass, manhandling and pinching and holding on for dear life. Even let him press his thigh up against your own crotch as he attempted to pull you as close as he could. The last thing you wanted was to actually derive any sort of sexual pleasure from this worm of a man. No matter how erotic you found his whimpering and keening.  
  
An audible growl slipped past your lips at the thought. This little escapade had to stop soon, before you worked yourself up too much and let Rick’s horrible cock fuck you. Your free hand snaked up, firmly holding the student’s throat to silence him further as your other hand picked up speed.  
  
The telltale shaking of his knees, his hands squeezing your asscheeks so hard there would definitely be little bruises after. With a smirk you tilted your head up to whisper in his ear, “Cum for me, Rick.”  
  
The spurt of white cum shot out in time with the erratic spasm of Rick’s entire body. The hem of his dirty shirt fell from his open mouth, soggy from spit and flopping back down to his convulsing stomach. Thanks to the pressure from your hand only a strangled gasp of a moan came out. Those grubby hands of his scurried up from your ass to the small of your back, where he actually had the audacity to hug your torso close to his.  
  
You let your hand relax on his throat so he could draw in a full breath as the last of his cum dribbled from the tip of his cock, coating your fingers. The People’s Poet chest heaved hard as he tried to get the much needed oxygen back into his lungs.  
  
“That was…” He paused, inhaling breath still shaky but slowly returning back to normal. An eyebrow on your face rose up in judgment, had the poof never jacked off before? He should know how to catch his breath by this age. The judgment continued as the poet picked his head up and focused his big, goo-goo eyes straight on your face. “That was brilliant.”  
  
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” you spat out. Roughly you grabbed the sodden hem of his shirt and wiped your sticky fingers, making sure to get his own cum to stain the cloth and make it all the more disgusting. Just like him. Reluctantly you felt his hands slip from your back so he could zip up his own trousers. You took this opportunity to step back, arms folded across your chest, hips cocked. “And don’t bother me about owing you ever again, you slug. We’re even.”  
  
Rick sputtered out a few words, a jumbled, mumbled mess that you ignored as you turned to walk back to the forgotten library table with books. Oh, he would lay off that favor-bullshit alright. But you could tell, from the looks he thought he sneakily sent you and the lingering hands of your shoulder when you left that you had just traded the People’s Poet’s annoying question for an even more annoying crush.   
  
Weren’t you a lucky one?


End file.
